The Business of Adoption
by TheWickerHeartGirl
Summary: And from the shattered pieces of what was once their lives, they pieced together a jigsaw. Even though it cut their fingers, there was nothing sweeter. To others it seemed tattered, but to them it was perfect. Perfect because it was their family portrait, and it spoke so clearly of what they were and what they had become - orphans, thieves, runaways. Brothers, sisters, family.
1. Jackson Whittemore

**The Adoption of Jackson Whittemore**

Rachel and David Whittemore were Melissa's best friends. David and Melissa had gone to college together, and despite the staggering distance in class made apparent by her scholarship, David was always there for her. She'd met Rachel at David's twenty third birthday and took the honour of the My Friend, I Care, He Hurt, You Die speech - named because of how drunk she was when she delivered it. Turns out, it didn't matter because Rachel became her second best friend that night when they dunked David's head in his cake, instead of performing the strip tease his mates were hooting about. It was okay though; the lads graciously apologised by going to the shop around the corner for the good coffee the next morning. Rachel assured Melissa it wasn't because they were scared of her.

While Melissa was studying nursing and David studied law, Rachel's course was in horticulture. At first Melissa didn't understand how someone as practical as David could be interested in someone studying something as hippy as gardening, but then she saw it: love. She was so different to the pair, but her sweet nature was a balm to Melissa's deep rooted sarcasm and David's stoic opinions. She sort of completed the group. Melissa was concerned a jealousy would bloom under Rachel's presence, but she waited patiently – and nothing happened. She didn't feel pushed out, if anything she felt stronger bonds than any friend had offered her before.

Meeting Rafael McCall was a strange moment in Melissa's life. She met him in a coffee house, and he was so charming and polite and fascinated by her. Her! Looking back, she'd try to find something in their early interactions that was an indicator – just to punish herself more – something dark in his smile, something dangerous in his eye but there was nothing. Grudgingly she'd admit yes, he was her Prince Charming and neither of them had a clue.

David didn't like Rafael, nor Rafael, David. Rachel was supportive although Melissa could tell there was something she didn't want to share; all that mattered though was that they grinned and bared it, and pretended so Melissa could at least imagine things were okay between her friends and lover. Rafael didn't really return the curtesy, but he'd buy her flowers or fancy cakes on his evenings off from the academy, apologising for whatever rude exchange had passed between himself and David the night before. That only did it for her for the first few years.

David proposed to Rachel on her birthday just before graduation. Melissa might have cried more than Rachel, but that was an inconsequential detail. He already had a job lined up with a firm, he told her, and although things might start out rocky, he promised he'd give her everything she could ever want and it would be an honour, if he might have her too. God, the tears. Melissa's favourite story from The Saga of Rachel the Care System Kid and David the Orphaned Millionaire however, was the ring toss over her: best woman or maid of honour? It didn't matter that David actually won, Rachel had already picked out the dress so shut up David, she's mine.

Just like Melissa was Rachel's maid of honour, Rachel was Melissa's. David got to walk her down the aisle. It was a far cheaper wedding than the Whittemore's, but that didn't matter because she was so god damn happy. (It didn't last particularly long).

Melissa and Rachel and David were not going to be those friends who lost touch with each other, not on their watch thank you very much, so that found them eating Chinese on Melissa's floor scouring California for prime locations. Melissa didn't have a plan, and David would follow Rachel wherever she went, so really? They could go anywhere. Rachel didn't want to move somewhere on a whim though, she wanted somewhere that David could build up a firm of his own, but somewhere with a child-friendly feel with a good school (because she whispered in Melissa's ear that she had an inkling but they'd go to the pharmacy once David left for work, because she didn't want to jerk him around on a feeling). Melissa tossed in her two cents that it would need a local hospital, and somewhere not too far for Rafael to commute.

Right now though, she wouldn't mind the space. He was being a jerk, accusing David of some pretty nasty things. Rachel had slapped him in the face and Melissa had dragged him out of their apartment by his collar until he'd pushed her away to the floor and stormed off. It was almost a sprain, but he'd had a few beers in him and Rachel _had_ just slapped him. Tensions were high, she didn't blame anyone.

Distinctly, the screams would be painted in Melissa's memories until her dying day. They were pregnant. Rachel was exposing her flat stomach like a coveted jewel, and David was crying through his grin and all Melissa could manage was a grimace because they were so perfect. The last time Rafael had looked at her like that was during their post-marital glow. Suddenly Melissa wasn't thinking about Moses baskets and pastel décor, but all the people who told her she was too young to be married and how right they were. See, they said that to Rachel and David too, but no one had really meant it when they were talking to the couple. Melissa just wanted to be as happy as they were.

As it would turn out, the trio of friends worked in tandem down to disbelief, because Melissa was also pregnant. Raf didn't cry. He asked her if she wanted company down to the clinic. She cried herself to sleep after he slammed the door.

House hunting was going badly. All the places Melissa and Rachel found threw Rafael into a tizzy because they were too expensive (although Melissa had checked their combined finances, and he was just being an ass), or they were too far away (from what, that was still a vague answer), or they just weren't what he wanted (she was breaking her back, but this was what marriage was about, right? Compromise?). Of course, she'd have a better idea of what he did want if he'd get his head out of the god damn bottle. Another issue, was Melissa and Raf's difference in budget to Rachel and David. David could spend all the money he wanted on some mansion in the middle of nowhere, and still afford to buy a herd of stallions to compliment a collection of Ferraris in every shade. Melissa could probably buy a My Little Pony and a doll's house. That didn't deter David though; following their Big Baby Announcements, he seemed even more determined for them to stick together, egged by Rafael trying to stick a wrench in the works. That led them to Beacon Hills. It was by no means cheap, but fairly priced so that a fully-fledged FBI agent and his nurse wife could just about get a mortgage from the bank.

So it happened. They weren't next door neighbours, separated by several streets actually, but it was enough. Rachel and Melissa had a good sombre giggle over the location – rather far from where Raf needed to work, but she'd convinced him out of stubborn spite, exhausted by his games. The Whittemore residence was big; big enough to satisfy David's dying uncle that he wasn't sacrificing grandeur for poverty and the future great nephews would be well taken care of. Melissa chortled, and they got down to painting.

Life wasn't fair. Melissa loathed herself, because of course the universe would pull this cruel trick on them, and nothing would be able to fix what had happened. As pregnant women who spent time ridiculous amounts of time in each other's company were ought to do, they went into labour simultaneously. Melissa was holding her baby, Rafael soothing back her hair, while Rachel next door sobbed into David's chest. She loved her son, but Rafael didn't even want him – her friends deserved this baby. Not her. Looking down into her own eyes though, she promised that she would give him the love Rachel and David would have given their son, give him the love Rafael wouldn't, give him everything. She recited David's proposal to him. Her Scott.

They didn't see each other for the longest time. David dropped by with gifts, but Rachel couldn't face it. They called, but beyond asking her to be Scott's godmother, there wasn't much to talk about. It pissed Rafael off (but he had no right to be angry) so he told her to stop calling. Melissa had never been so furious. She desperately wanted to go over, but she couldn't bring a baby into their house, and some deep instinct in her forbid her from leaving Scott with Rafael.

Eventually their wounds scabbed over, and Rachel called. Melissa found herself in Beacon Hills' proudest coffee house with Scott bundled in her arms, Rachel and David looking thin opposite her. It might have been a while, but she knew David like her left and Rachel like her right, so the woman didn't even have to ask for Melissa to offer Scott up into her arms. They had news though, such earth shattering news that Melissa spat out her coffee over her jeans (it complimented the baby puree quite nicely).

There was a woman in the maternity ward at Beacon Hills' hospital – a small ward but a ward none the less. No one knew her, she was just passing through, and she didn't even give them a name past 'Sarah', and she had given birth to a healthy young boy. She died. The nearest care home was four counties over and they weren't a home prepared to deal with children under the age of five. That care home would be another eight counties over from the previous one. The care worker that had been sent was talking to the sheriff when David was passing, after taking care of a client (his new firm was flourishing). Desperate to escape her no doubt, the sheriff called him in and he suddenly found a baby due to be thrust upon him by next week. It was the strangest thing he had ever experienced and undoubtedly broke multiple child protection regulations of the system, but he had asked about being able to adopt (because letting go would be tougher) and no doubt eager to wash her hands of the mess, the woman agreed.

Melissa was worried. Yes, this woman went home with him for an inspection and interview as she was required to, scheduled several more for next week, and the sheriff provided her with background checks for both David and Rachel, and there were no other homes prepared for fostering a baby in Beacon Hills, but Melissa couldn't help feel this was premature. Surely Rachel was far too unstable to care for a baby? She could barely take care of herself right now, but she was always a good actress. It must have been Rachel's own history with the system that convinced the care worker that this would be an okay arrangement for now. There would be endless check-ups of course, but Rachel and David didn't care. Despite everything though, Melissa couldn't help but feel some cosmic injustice had been righted.

His name was Jackson, and he was adorable. 'Sarah' had died before she could name him, and Melissa recognised the name from Rachel's neatly formed baby book, written in silver gel pen on the blue card mounted in the 'boy' half of the first section. Rachel was weird (it was okay). Jackson and Scott didn't quite know what to make of each other at first, but now at a year old, they were comically inseparable. David had used all the connections he had to stall Jackson being relocated to an actual foster family. His wealth was no doubt a key factor in helping him guiltily skip over the lengthy waiting list of people wanting to adopt a baby. He was doing everything in his power to stop their son being taken into the system, and Melissa could only sigh wistfully because last night Rafael had knocked Scott into the table and hadn't even looked back.

Her mother was dead. Melissa had never been that close to the woman, the bat did spout some bullshit, but her mother was her mother. Scott was staying with Rachel and Jackson for a sleepover, while David attended the funeral with her. (Rafael hated her mother since the drinking – Melissa was concerned he might spit on her grave or something). The woman had met David multiple times, called him the son she never had, and while she was crossing her fingers for Melissa to 'snap him up' so to speak, she respected their platonic friendship. The place was filled with her mother's drinking buddies and poker opponents and even some hustlers the old croak was prone to escapade with, but in between the dead beats of fake rings and stolen Rolexes (she made David leave his at the house) she could see glimpses of family. Aunt Jeanie. Great Uncle Todd. Even cousin Betty. None of them spared her a glance though, and she was perfectly okay with that. David softly took her hand though, and in that moment staring down at the coffin being swallowed by the earth, the revelation hit her. There was family; ones that shared a weird nose, or wonky fingers, or an aggressive shade of pasty, but then there was also _family_ ; the ones she chose for the light in their heart and not the squint of their jaw.

Rachel was not the kind of girl to directly address an issue. She was the kind to give you a bouquet and a latte and let the topic roll in by itself. That's why this came as a shock: a very formal, very organised, very concerning intervention. Concerning because Rachel actually called it an intervention and she wasn't a straight forward person, despite the stereotypes of her father's Chinese culture. "Rafael doesn't treat you right. Those are bruises on your arm, I'm not stupid. We want you and Scott to be okay, we just care about you; we're like family." Some part of Melissa understood what Rachel and David were doing, but an intervention? They were married, they didn't need an intervention, all they needed was a little bit of therapy and they'd get that when the time was right. Melissa, Rachel and David had argued before – not like this.

Melissa soon-to be-divorced McCall, was a crier. She just couldn't handle overwhelming emotions. As she sat in the graveyard with her back against the gravestone, she decided she didn't care if the whole town heard her scream because those memories… God, those memories were cruel. They flashed through her mind like a freight train, intercepted by obscurities of the funeral, and then painfully slowly like pythons squeezing the life out of her. It was burning rubber that squeezed the life out of David and Rachel Whittemore. He wasn't drunk, neither was she, but the driver of the Prius claimed he wasn't either. Filthy lying bastard. Melissa was an empathetic person though, so no doubt by next week she'd pity him. One small nudge at the intersection. That was all it took to wrap their BMW around a tree. They'd bought a new one last week – it was supposed to arrive tomorrow. The moon hung from the sky, the last pearl on a broken necklace and then delicately, like a gentle hand, a memory emerged crisp and clear, out from the ravaging fog of the others. They were sitting on the grass on campus. It was after midnight and they'd no doubt get in trouble, but you could just about see stars through the bubble of light encompassing the city, dotted around the wholesome full moon. David had never stargazed before much to Melissa's horror, and it seemed to be transforming him into a romantic. "I met this girl."

"God help her."

"I'm serious! She's amazing. I think I love her."

"Oh Jesus, here we go, - never thought you were one for love - what's her name then?"

"Rachel."

"Just Rachel? Wait, not Rachel Spencer?"

"She's a lesbian, I aim out of my league, but I'm not that full of myself."

They'd spent the rest of the night passing back a box of Oreos.

Melissa thumped her feet against the damp grass, as if she could get a little louder then she might be able to wake them out of their graves. She'd moved the expensive flowers to the side to allow herself a little mourning space without feeling the presence of other people, lying against the inscribed names of her only family now gone, but then she caught their bright touch in the corner of her eye. The reds and pinks and whites, all co-ordinated in honour of Rachel's perfectionism, they were from her own god damn shop. Melissa once got a bouquet of flowers from Rafael for her birthday because he couldn't be there – Rachel raised a perfectly arched brow at them before snorting at Melissa's attempts to cut them down for the vase. She hip bumped her out of the way to take over.

Melissa's hand snagged out at the white orchids she'd laid, tearing at them, shredding them, gasping through her sobs.

She thumped the ground with her fists, tearing out the grass in favour of her hair. Twelve hours ago, Rafael stood not more than three feet from here. She didn't have the energy to slap him, she was too busy holding up six year old Jackson with Scott while making sure her own ribcage didn't collapse in on itself. Rachel and David and Jackson, he wasn't there for them – he was there to get under her skin. She thumped the ground with her fists, tearing out the grass in favour of her hair, because she'd hacked it all off already. She wasted the relief that came with a good savage cut on her divorce. So the grass would have to do. It was okay though – there was more grass than hair.

And thus, Melissa McCall found herself legal guardian of Jackson Whittemore.


	2. Laura and Derek Hale

**The Adoption of Laura and Derek Hale**

At first, Melissa found herself scared of Jackson – not that there was anything scary about the lithe little boy in the top bunk. Maybe she wasn't scared of him, rather scared for him, scared she'd ruin the future his parents had planned out for him, scared she'd mess him up, scared she'd do something that would make Rachel and David roll in their graves. She was just scared. In her opinion, Melissa had done alright by Scott so far, but Jackson? The little boy was sodden in grief. She had no idea if she'd fix him, or break him.

It was there in his beautiful moon-blue eyes: desperation. She just couldn't figure out what he was desperate for, was it attention or comfort or space? That was a lie. Melissa did know what he was desperate for. Home – the warm swirling cloud of Rachel's flora perfume and the rich scent of spilt ink on David's hands. She missed it too.

Jackson and Scott had always been close; it was heart-warming and heart-breaking at the same time to watch Scott and Jackson cuddle closer than usual on the couch. Scott was so tuned in to Jackson's feelings. He was so gentle, and Jackson so breakable, and Melissa was so worried. Every odd while though, Scott would smile at Jackson and Jackson would smile back and then they'd both grin even wider and Melissa could sense the vibrations of mischief in the air – it was rejuvenating.

They were only seven and yet Melissa was feeling old. Weary, like little ants had burrowed into her feet and hollowed out her bones from the bottom up, ants like the swarms that blitzed furniture into sawdust in Scott's cartoons. One swift blow and she'd crumble away. Between the extra shifts she took to pay for Scott's inhalers and Jackson's grief therapy, and Rafael's constant onslaught of custodial dispute lawyers (he didn't even want Scott, he was just trying to rile her up), Melissa was in no place for a dog let alone two more kids. Yet it was in such a situation she found herself.

It started with Peter Hale. They met at the hospital when his niece Cora broke her wrist on her swing-set. The poor man was in pieces because he'd been charged with looking after her so Melissa, ridden with pity (having been in a similar situation with one of Scott's friends before), passed by the man and gave him a chamomile tea from the vending machine. "For the nerves," she said, "Doctor's orders." And with a smile she carried on with her rounds, her mind occasionally flitting back to the man and his niece and wondering how they got on. She was in the cafeteria having her lunch when he stopped at her table with the little girl, her arm in a pink cast, and he slid a Styrofoam cup across the blue surface with an almost shy smile. "Thought I'd return the favour. I'm Peter by the way, and this is my favourite nuisance, Cora." Her giggle as she clung to his forearm trickled across the cafeteria sweetly, like little fairies fluttering through long grass. He adoringly smiled down at her, and then shifted his mirthful blue eyes to Melissa. Wow.

Peter wasn't like Rafael. He listened. Melissa found herself reminded of mulled wine at Christmas, or sunflowers over the fence, or the glow-in-the-dark stars on Jackson and Scott's ceiling. She didn't really want a relationship, she had her boys to think of and she worked too much anyway, and it was a hassle she didn't particularly need and – and _Peter_. Every time she tried to convince herself she didn't want to get involved with him, her mind always circled back to that word. _Peter_. It was a confession and a proclamation. Peter. A whisper and a scream. Peter. A lullaby and a battle cry. There was no sensible reason to encourage a relationship with Peter Hale, she'd only really had coffee with him twice, and his niece had been there the first time, and he was probably just being nice. But she was getting old. Perhaps, she thought, perhaps. Perhaps just once, she could throw caution to the wind for old time's sake, after all she wasn't getting any younger. _Peter_.

So she cast away her iron chains like the rusted weights they were, plunged into the icy water, and let the sand squeeze between her toes. She called him.

Other than her occupation as 'mother', Melissa's job as an ER nurse was the most important thing to her. Peter, her angel Peter, understood that, more so, told her he loved that. Loved that she was so strong. As Melissa feared with most men, Peter wasn't a jerk – he'd deliver elaborate bouquets to the house every month in all her favourite arrangements from all her favourite shops, and he'd take her out for dinner every Friday night when Scott and Jackson were at sleepovers. If she couldn't get away from work, he'd bring her takeout to share at their table in the cafeteria. A gent, her grandmother would say. A slimy perv, her mother would say (but that old bint's opinion never mattered anyway).

"Meet my family." He said.

"Okay." She said.

Once Melissa had been hit in the face with a soccer ball – that's what it felt like when she stepped down from the enormous Hale house's patio doors into the back garden, seeing children running around with their aunts and uncles and mums and dads and brothers and sisters and seconds cousins first removed. She was suddenly very aware of how _alone_ she was. Then Peter's strong hand slipped around her waist like the tree supporting the river bank, and she didn't feel so alone anymore. _Peter_.

It was difficult remembering everyone's names at first but Melissa eventually found Peter was closest with his older sister Thalia, and her children. Laura was fourteen – she wanted to be grown up so badly. Laura was like crashing waves on the rocks and sea salt on the wind. While she traded books with Melissa regularly, Peter told her that Laura still slept with her teddy bear, but don't tell Derek because he's sly. Derek was ten and if Laura was the ocean, he was the forest. Quiet, and yet Melissa still saw the little spark of fire in his eyes. He had a sweet smile, and she knew he'd grow up to be as charming as his uncle. Melissa taught him how to play the piano that sat unused in the corner of the living room. Cora was neither the ocean nor the woods; she was the fields. She was the flowers. She was the balm that soothed the occasional grating between Laura and Derek and her little smile elated Melissa's day, like a hot air balloon taking off for the horizon. They'd make daisy chains when it was sunny, and press tulips and lavender when it was rainy.

Thalia would sit with her on the back patio when neither of them were working and they'd drink teas and ponder motherhood and sometimes they'd talk about Peter; but more than anything else, Thalia wanted to hear about Scott and Jackson. Melissa hadn't quite plucked up the courage to introduce boyfriend to sons yet. She didn't know why. Maybe if she did, it would mean that this was real. Scared of commitment, Thalia had said. Don't worry, she'd smile, you love Peter; you'll find your way. It stuck with Melissa – scared of commitment. She knew, she just knew, it Rafael's fault. The bastard was still ruining her life but it was okay, because Peter – Peter, _Peter_ – was worth every second of the struggle.

It would turn out the struggle wasn't a struggle she was struggling with alone. "Her name was Malia," he said, "And she was beautiful."

"Wife?" Melissa asked.

"Daughter." He replied.

"Tell me about her." She said.

And he did. Through the humid night he painted Sistine chapels with sonnets of her eyes and sculpted David's with his whispers of her grin. Whoever it was must have had an angel in mind when they sculpted her face, he said. Her soul was bathed in moonlight, her heart in starlight, and in his drowning darkness she shone brighter than both. Truly, he said, I had never been worthy of such a blessing. Melissa wiped the tears from their faces with gentle fingers, and she told him about Rafael.

If Malia was Peter's angel, Rafael was Melissa's demon. She began crying for an entirely different reason and Peter held her even closer, and stroked her wild hair, and whispered in her ear sweet nothings. The sweet nothings that meant everything.

"I love you." He said.

She was already asleep.

"I want you to meet my kids." She said.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"I've never felt surer of anything."

Jackson was suspicious – that was just his nature these days. Scott was too, but in far more endearing a way, with much more innocence. Peter liked Jackson's scepticism, said it built good character; he liked Scott's honesty, it reminded him of Malia. By the end of the week Scott and Peter were best friends.

("I want to be a vet when I'm big."

"Well I'm friends with a vet! Maybe he'd let you come over and meet his patients some time.")

They were sitting in the living room, Scott hunched over a game of Operation on the floor with Jackson. Peter was reading the local newspaper – another mountain lion – and Melissa was lounging with her feet in his lap and a cup of coffee to her lips, when she noticed Jackson was no longer interested in the game and was instead scrutinising Peter.

"How fast can your car go?" Peter folded his paper, and turned to meet the blonde's well-structured stare. Melissa scolded her lips on the black burning beverage, almost spilling it down herself.

"Very fast."

"Do you drive fast when Melissa's in the car too?"

"Only if we're running late."

"That's dangerous."

"It is, but I like to think I know my car well enough."

"You should think again."

"Do fast cars scare you Jackson?"

"Nothing scares me."

"It's only a machine."

"I said I'm not scared."

"Well that's good! Because cars aren't scary, really. The only scary thing about cars is that sometimes silly people drive them – people who don't understand how they work. It's those people that do damage. Cars are only dangerous if you don't use them right." Jackson had been through three therapists so far, none able to quell his anxiety surrounding automobiles, and here all he'd needed was Peter. She could see the contemplative look in Jackson's eye.

"Do you know how use a car right?"

"Of course."

"… Could you teach me?"

"It would be my honour."

"Thank you." She said.

"For what?" He asked.

"For offering to teach Jackson about cars."

"Oh." He said.

"And for taking Scott to the vet clinic today. I've never seen him grin that wide before."

"No problem." He said.

"I love you." She said.

He was already asleep.

Peter asked if she wanted to go over to Thalia's at the weekend. They could stay the night in his reserved guest room and Scott and Jackson could meet Laura, Derek, and Cora. She wanted to, God she wanted to, because ever since that first time Peter popped the hood of his Camaro and set Jackson up a footstool to stand on, Melissa had been sure that this was the man she wanted to spend her future with. Except Scott was ill – he had suffered a severe asthma attack and hadn't been able to find an inhaler, so after a terrifying trip to the ER, Scott was on bed rest for a few days. Next weekend, she promised. Peter kissed her nose, and she blushed like a school girl. He gave Scott a parting hug, gave Jackson a tousle of the hair – because Jackson was a big boy and would only hug Melissa, and maybe Scott if he's upset because he gets upset sometimes you know – and left with a suggestion he'd take them all to the new Italian next Friday. God, that man.

It would come to be called The Hale Fire.

Peter was alive.

Peter was in surgery.

Peter was in a coma.

Peter, Peter, Peter, a mantra in her head. Peter, Peter, Peter, like a Hail Mary. Peter, Peter, Peter, _Peter_. She saw the sign on the wall for the morgue; she threw up because it was undoubtedly filled with the bodies of people she knew, people she came to love. Then again, was it? Was there even enough left to put in body bags? Oh god, she didn't even know who had been in the house, who was staying, who was there, because the Hale clan often gathered unannounced at Thalia's house for no reason other than wanting to be there. She needed to know who made it out, who was alive, who-

Derek stood amidst the frantic rhythm of the ER like a lost child in a train station. He was dazed, detached, his body was there, but his mind – Melissa didn't even know if it was elsewhere, it was just gone. Ten years old. Derek was always cheeky and sly but quiet and thoughtful but now, now it seemed like even he didn't know what he was anymore.

Laura. She saw Laura. The girl had just been escorted through the doors by the Sherriff but she broke free of his supportive hand on her back, to tackle Derek into an unyielding grasp. Her hair was wispy around her face, her eyes swollen and red, and her lips puffy. She had clamped her arms around the back of her younger brother who was still – where Laura kept readjusting her booted feet and tightening her grip, Derek was lax. His face was pale and shell-shocked. Only after Laura's sobs started wracking his body too, did he begin to cry. She'd never heard such anguished howls of suffering. Then Laura's eyes snagged onto Melissa and in an instant she was melded into the girl's embrace.

She didn't realise she had been sobbing too.

He was on life support. They weren't sure he'd make it. Peter had always been so full of flowing, graceful life – now before her, bandaged and damaged, he was still. It scared her. "Peter, please! Peter, I love you! Peter! I love you! I love you, I love you Peter…"

She hoped he loved her too, because now she'd never hear it. She tried to imagine it in her head: he'd said 'I' and 'love' and 'you' before, so she tried to merge the snippets together but every time she came close, the echo was leached away by the heat still exuding from his skin. I love you. _I love you._

Laura had never been so silent. Derek had never been so empty. It was like they were dead too; they might as well be in the coma patient wing with Peter. It was a surreal experience, the pen was heavy and sluggish between her fingers, and as Melissa leant across the desk she prayed it didn't slip from her hand. Her loopy signature occupied the empty dotted line of the official custodial form. She had been 'Aunt Melissa', Laura even choked out that Peter was going to propose. Now she was 'Official Parent/Guardian Melissa'. The Hale family lawyer said that even though the family's assets were technically Laura and Derek's when they turn eighteen (with the exclusion of Peter's) he'd work something out for a small amount to be set aside each month in child support. Melissa protested but the suited man promised it would barely make a dent in the Hale fortune.

While Melissa was clearing out the storage room filled with the junk Rafael had yet to collect (she doubted he ever would), Derek shared the guest room with Laura. Yet even a week after she'd found a bed and dresser and wardrobe to fill the now empty storage room, Derek was still sleeping in Laura's bed. She wanted to talk to Laura about it, but she didn't want to push. She understood. It had been a painful week of soul-sucking police interviews and draining statements and crushing headlines. Melissa felt like she was being crushed by an avalanche, trying to protect her new charges from it all. She even called her local news subscription office and asked them to hold the paper delivery for a few weeks until it all blew over – Laura and Derek didn't need to see their dead family on the doorstep.

Eventually she had to do something – Derek couldn't even get out of bed most days, and Laura was having breakdowns in the shower. Casually seemed the best way to go about it, so as Melissa was bashing away at the coffee maker on a Saturday morning and Laura was poking fizzing bacon in attempt to lure out Derek, she said something. "I think, we should maybe take Derek to talk to someone." Laura's prodding stilled.

"I thought the same thing." Thank God. That was good. Progress. She had to remember Laura was the most logical of her countless cousins.

"I could maybe take him to Jackson's therapist? She's very good with him." Laura resumed her exploration of pig cuttings, so Melissa carried on. "Jackson's a lot like Derek I think."

"Needs a gentle touch."

"Yeah." Laura was so full of surprises. Then again, this was Thalia Hale's daughter, the tsunami in a desert.

Jackson was always a suspicious boy, as was the sweetheart's nature, but he was blatantly scared of Derek. Derek was sullen and rarely spoke, and Laura had the tense shoulders of a teenage girl trying to keep it all together. Scott wasn't particularly fond of him either, so Melissa had to have a Big Boy Discussion with them. "They're Peter's nephew and niece. There was an accident and now their family…" She was going to say _can't take care of them anymore_ , but before she could Jackson swept in with a monotone; "They're dead aren't they?" Melissa and Jackson's eyes locked and she was startled at the stark realist she saw in them. Scott flounder next to the blond boy.

"Dead? Even Uncle Peter?" Both of her boy's eyes filled with tears, Jackson's stubbornly, and Melissa just didn't know how to tell them without crying herself. She needed to hold it together because God knows the fourteen year old girl upstairs was doing enough of it herself.

"No, Peter's not dead."

"So why can't he take care of Derek and Laura?" Scott would have sounded petulant to anyone else but Melissa knew her children. Scott was worried something was wrong with Peter. How did she tell them there was?

"Uncle Peter-" She breathed deeply, "Uncle Peter was hurt. The accident was a fire, and Peter got very badly hurt."

"Is he going to be okay?" Jackson, her little Jackson, who death had touched far too soon, sounded so very soft and so very far away.

"Physically, he's going to be fine." She never believed in lying to children. Children always knew when they were being lied to. "But- he's just in a very deep sleep."

"When's he going to wake up? He was s-supposed to take Jackson to th-the the mechanic shop to watch the car be fixed, and he was going to – to take us to Dr Deaton's to s-see the new puppies and, and-" Jackson hugged Scott so tightly she thought he might burst, and he pushed the inhaler into Scott's hand. Melissa walked around the end of the table to hold them both against her.

"We've got to be strong, okay? Peter wouldn't want you to cry, yeah? He might wake up one day but until then we have to look after Laura and Derek for him."

That night when Melissa was making the bedroom rounds to make sure the sleeping children were okay, she found all four of them in the double bed of the guest room, sleeping peacefully. She returned to her own cold empty bed, and cried. They weren't tears of sorrow, nor were the tears of joy; all she could really say was that there was something warm in her chest, like a tiny seed had just begun to grow under a ray of sunlight.


End file.
